


I've been known to be mean

by NoiraKai



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Blindfolds, Bloodplay, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Knifeplay, M/M, Male Solo, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sensation Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoiraKai/pseuds/NoiraKai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-comic Cain and Deimos play with knives. </p><p>PWP. Mind the tags, my dears.</p><p>For the Secret Santa gift exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've been known to be mean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ficwriter103](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficwriter103/gifts).



He has to force himself to walk slowly down the hallway; with some effort he gets his muscles to resist the adrenaline so he can take steady, deliberate steps. He can still hear Cain's voice in his ear, can still feel Cain's fingers squeezing hard on his arm and pulling him close so he can feel the heat of his body. They are lingering imprints on his senses as if he's looked at something bright like the sun, and it's made his cheeks burn red... as if when Cain dug his blunt nails into Deimos's skin he injected some sort of drug into his veins.

_"Tonight. The usual place."_

He shouldn't feel this way, and there's a part of him that hates it. _Fuck_ Cain for making him feel weak and soft, for making him seek warmth in the cold, dark of space where you're better off with a frozen heart. _Fuck_ Cain for making him desperate for it, practically out of his mind with his addiction like a fucking junkie. _Fuck_ Cain for making him so hard that he can't see straight, with nothing more than four words and a yank on the arm, and in the middle of the fucking mess hall for everyone to see. _Fuck_ Cain for making him into such a fucking mess.

But he can still feel hot breath on his ear, the hairs on his neck still standing at attention as he lays down on his bed in the middle of the day, unable to wait with Cain's words coursing hot through his veins. He slicks up the toy he has specially for this purpose, when he wants Cain but simply cannot have him, when he needs to feel full and whole like Cain makes him feel. He pushes it in desperately, his hair disheveled and fallen away from his eyes. He trembles, muffling his moans with a hand over his mouth, closing his eyes and focusing on the thought of Cain inside him, and he comes hard all over his stomach, twice, even before the bruise from Cain's fingers begins to show.

 

 

* * *

 

That night, he is greeted by the sound of a whetstone on metal, as he steps into the storage closet, his shadow stumbling out in front of him, out of the bright light in the hall so it's hard to see. Then the door whispers shut behind him, and there is Cain, sitting on a crate in the darkness with a cigarette glowing between his lips. He sharpens the knife lazily, only the vaguest of threats in his eyes.

The bastard doesn't say anything as he puts out the cigarette and saunters over to Deimos, pointing the pocketknife right at him with a steady hand. He presses his knuckles against Deimos's collarbone, so the knife is flat against him, right under his neck.

 _"Do you trust me?"_ he asks in their native tongue. It's a wicked smirk that Deimos would like to slap off his face because he already knows the answer. But Deimos only nods instead, the rush of danger already redirecting his blood so he's at half mast and not really able to move.

Using his thigh for leverage, Cain folds the knife and hides the blade inside the handle. He stows it in his pants pocket, freeing up both his hands for his next task of removing Deimos's clothes. He is in absolutely no hurry, sliding the jacket off his shoulders, pulling his shirt up and exposing his chest at a maddening pace. Deimos rushes forward and kisses him, trying to goad him into moving things along, but Cain just catches his bottom lip between his teeth and snarls. Deimos glares at him with ice cold eyes, and silently promises that one day he'll be the one with the knife; Cain sets his lip free. Deimos snaps at him with his teeth to make sure he's gotten the message across, and wrinkles his nose victoriously when Cain flinches and recovers quick.

Once Deimos is free of his clothes, exposed to the slightly chilly air, Cain retrieves the knife. He pushes a button on the handle and the blade springs out, shining in the dim light as Deimos watches Cain set it flat on his shoulder, pushing down. Deimos complies, slowly lowering himself to the cold floor, kneeling there so his face is lined up with the bulge forming in Cain's trousers. He is the one that goes slow now, taking his time nuzzling and kissing Cain's erection through layers of clothes. Cain closes the knife and reopens it with a loud and sharp click to warn him: _"Hurry the fuck up,"_ he growls.

Cain's tone makes him shudder, desire sending flashes of lightning through his core as he undoes Cain's fly, the tip of the knife just barely stinging at his shoulder. Cain's cock is heavy in his hands, and he locks eyes with him as he pulls Cain's foreskin with soft lips, and brushes his tongue around the inside. Cain forgets himself, groaning and setting a heavy hand in Deimos's hair, so he pulls the foreskin back and sucks the smooth head into his mouth.

Having gotten what he wanted, Cain puts the knife in his pocket again. He breathes heavily as he peels his own black shirt off, and then returns his hands to Deimos's hair, twisting in his fingers, heavy and demanding, like he's the one in charge here. Deimos barely nips him with his teeth to show him otherwise, and Cain gasps and throws his head back, and loosens his grip.

Eventually Cain stops him and pulls out, running a thumb over Deimos's lips before he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a black strip of cloth. His breath hitches as he realizes what it's for... as Cain walks behind him, wrapping the cloth over his eyes and tieing it tight behind his head, plunging Deimos into darkness, kneeling naked on the cold floor.

There are several minutes where he just listens to Cain light up another cigarette, his footsteps occasionally pacing around the room over the low hum of the station's generators. Who knows what he's doing, who knows what other secrets he's been hiding in his pockets, or in some corner of the room that Deimos didn't see. Finally Cain returns and kneels behind him, his warm, calloused hand gliding soft over shivering skin.

 _Fuck_ Cain for pretending to be nice, when Deimos knows he's going to be mean.

 _"Do you trust me, myshonok?"_ he asks again, in earnest this time.

Deimos nods, only slightly so as not to disturb the knife that's been pressed against his skin. _"Da. Do it,"_ he says daringly, when he realizes he can't move his head much without the blindfold pulling at his hair.

He bites his lip, wincing as the knife is set against his skin at an angle, and Cain slowly draws lines up and down his back. The pain is not what he expected; it is sharp, but rather slight, stimulating in a way that actually feels good, no more than scratches. He relaxes; lets go of his now-swollen lip, hanging his head down and just listening to Cain breathe.

Then Cain leans in behind him, pressing the knife into his skin until Deimos can feel warm blood dribbling down his back. He lets out an involuntary whimper at the sharper pain, feeling a twinge of fear even as his cock twitches harder, and he can't decide which of the two caused him to make the pathetic noise.

 _"Shhh... relax. You're okay,"_ Cain whispers, and Deimos believes him, kneeling there unmoving as three more cuts are put into his back, each with their own small stream of blood and their own rush of pleasure-pain. Cain bends down to catch one with his warm, soft tongue, following it up Deimos's back and kissing the cut that he made. Deimos shivers as he imagines Cain's lips stained red with it, wonders how long he has wanted to do this but didn't trust Deimos enough to ask. As if he would ever deny Cain anything, as if he would ever give up an opportunity to give himself to Cain, in whatever ways it was possible to give yourself to another man. Deimos silently revels in the thought of Cain wanting him in this way, of him getting off on thinking about it, getting off on finally doing it now, as the younger man sinks his teeth into his shoulder, his neck, the shell of his ear, his hair tickling Deimos's skin. He works easily into Deimos with two slick but rude fingers.

Cain rests his chin on his shoulder, hands wandering wherever they can reach. "You want it?" he breathes, and Deimos leans back into him, beyond wanting now. With the blindfold on, all his other senses are heightened: there is nothing but the sound of Cain's voice and his breathing, his hands roaming over Deimos's stomach and his thighs, Cain's cock pressing into him as his own blood starts to dry against his back, blood that he shed for Cain. _Of course_ he fucking wants it, because there's nothing else to want; nothing else exists. Cain pushes in with one rough thrust, and still Deimos leans into the pain of it, crying out wordlessly for more with a voice that falters from its lack of use.

 _"Fuck, you look good in red,"_ Cain says gruffly in his ear, and Deimos turns his head to the sound even though he knows he won't be able to see him. Cain shifts his hips, fucking Deimos with shallow thrusts as he takes his mouth, kissing him deep and soft with a tongue that tastes like nickels and cigarettes, making Deimos moan. Then Cain slides his hand around, grabs one of Deimos's wrists and pins it behind his back, leaning Deimos away from him as he fucks him harder, deeper, faster, so the sound of their skin echoes against the nearby crates. He cries out again, can't help it with how good it is, can't help it with how Cain is driving into his prostate, each thrust with perfect aim. He fucking _sobs_ with how good it is until Cain pulls him back to his chest and claps an angry hand over his mouth.

 _"Shut the fuck up,"_ he says flatly through gritted teeth, close enough to tickle the hairs in Deimos's ear, even as he glides his other hand over Deimos's cock. _"You want the whole station to hear you?"_

But Deimos doesn't care... doesn't care because he's still keening against Cain's hand and coming hard in the other, pushing back into each thrust to impale himself more on Cain's cock, pulsing around him, and Cain lowers his hand and wraps it dangerously around his neck. It makes him pulse even harder, moaning with the last throes of it, shuddering as he's pressed against Cain's sweaty skin.

Cain fucks him meaner now, grunting with the effort of each thrust as he gets closer. He smears the cum on Deimos's stomach around and scoops some up, and shoves his fingers into the other's mouth. Deimos eagerly sucks on them, tasting himself and humming just to mess with Cain and help him over the edge.

"Fuck -- Deimos!" the other fighter exclaims, almost scandalized like this whole thing wasn't his idea, and pushes Deimos down so he's pressing his cheek against the cold cement, just bracing himself as Cain picks up the pace. As he comes, Cain pulls out, swearing and shooting hot stripes onto Deimos's back and his ass, before he collapses on top of him with a sated sigh. He's heavy, but Deimos can't bring himself to say anything, he'll tolerate it if it means Cain will stay close to him a moment longer.

Cain hums appreciatively in his ear, voice low and grumbly in his throat. _"You purr like a cat when you are spent,"_ Deimos teases, and Cain laughs quietly and breathes heavy against Deimos's skin, nibbling just a little. It makes him remember something. "Kotik..."

"Hmm?"

 _"My back!"_ he gasps, still feeling the stinging from the tip of the knife.

 _"You're not bleeding,"_ Cain says lazily. _"I didn't cut you."_

He lifts up, quickly turns around to look at Cain with wide eyes, even though he knows he cannot see. He saw Cain sharpening the knife. He felt the knife cut him. He felt the blood run down his back. _  
_

Cain unties the knot of the blindfold with nimble fingers and pulls it away, and Deimos flips over to sit facing him, finally taking the weight off his knees. Cain holds up a different knife than the one he was using before, a dull butter knife he must have stolen from the kitchen. On the floor beside them is a bowl of water with a dropper inside. _"Nicked this from medical,"_ Cain says as he picks the dropper up, squirting some water onto Deimos's skin so he feels it is warm.

 _"But... I tasted it. When you kissed me,"_ Deimos rasps in disbelief.

 _"Because you believed me?"_ Cain guesses with a shrug. Frantically doubtful now, Deimos reaches behind him, touching his hand to his back wherever he can, but finds there is no blood.

 _"It was just in your imagination, myshonok,"_ Cain pleads, pulling Deimos into his arms. He situates them so he is leaning against a crate with Deimos sitting between his legs, making Deimos be still and lean his head back against Cain's shoulder. _"You are safe with me,"_ he whispers into his hair.

 _"You're mean,"_ Deimos protests, only half-joking, as he mulls over what Cain isn't saying and would probably never say out loud, even if it were true.

"Hmph." Cain sleepily runs his hand along the scars on Deimos's arm. _"You have enough of these already."_

Deimos scowls, but doesn't try to get out of Cain's embrace, too fucked to move. He has to admit he liked it when he thought it was real... But _fuck_ Cain for fucking with his mind, as if it weren't good enough that he was fucking his body.  _Fuck_ Cain for having that kind of power over him, and knowing it, and having the decency not to actually use it for once in his life.  _Fuck_ Cain, for being so smug because he didn't leave a scar on Deimos's body, as if he hasn't left an open, gaping wound in his heart. _Fuck_ Cain, for letting Deimos think, if only for a moment, that he might actually give a damn, that this could be anything more than just fucking Cain. 

And _fuck_ Cain, for making Deimos think, if only for a moment, it might be okay if he gave a damn, too.

**Author's Note:**

> catcitycat/ficwriter103, I hope you like your present! 
> 
> I should mention that the idea of Deimos having a dildo that reminds him of Cain was not my idea... i read it somewhere and really loved the idea but could not find the fic today when I looked for it. Sorry! I try to give credit where credit is due!
> 
> Also 'Kotik' is a Russian pet word for cat... i was having Deimos call Cain 'kotyonok' in some earlier fics, but apparently kotik is more appropriate. 
> 
> Oh, also? Kids, don't try this at home... I mean, knife and blood play can be really dangerous, and you should not try it without taking a lot of precautions that were not represented here and learning about what you are doing. Obviously Cain took a safer route but that wasn't apparent until the end. Okay I feel better now.


End file.
